Sing, children, sing

And the lily censers swing; 

Sing that life and joy are waking, and that 

Death no more is king.

Sing the happy, happy tumult, of the slowly brightening spring; 

Sing, little children, sing!

Sing, children, sing! 

Winter wild has taken wing. 

Fill the air with the sweet tidings till the frosty echoes ring! 

Along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering cling; 

And the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face to the sun, 

And in the meadows softly the brooks begin to run;

And the golden catkins swing 

In the warm airs of the spring;

Sing, children, sing!